


caught

by helenecixous



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, i say this now i'll read it tomorrow and decide i hate it but, i think i like this one, it's just rly fluffy, what can u do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6733231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenecixous/pseuds/helenecixous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah-” Gillian mutters, clearing her throat and then offering her a smile. “Unfortunately, farms don’t stop just ‘cos it’s a bank holiday.”<br/>“I’d maybe suggest that hormonal teenagers are slightly more challenging than a few sheep,” Caroline grins, and Gillian can’t stop looking at the way the sunlight’s filtering in behind her, framing her, catching all of the flyaway hairs she’s missed and making them golden. Her leg is bouncing faster and faster, and she only looks away when her knee hits the underside of the table and her tea sloshes over the rim and forms a puddle around the bottom of the mug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	caught

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elainebarrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elainebarrish/gifts).



Caroline doesn’t get many days off. That’s partly her fault, admittedly - she doesn’t often allow herself to relax on weekends, because there’s always housework or paperwork or errands to run or lessons to plan, and now there’s Flora, and Flora’s always ten jobs in one. But, it’s a Monday morning, and judging from the warm sunlight that’s making puddles of yellow on the wall, and the way that the curtains are swaying just slightly, it’s a nice one. Caroline stretches out as she wakes up - for once, before her daughter does. She sighs, relaxes, enjoys the silence only broken by the snuffles coming from the cot, and silently thanks the world for bank holidays.

She closes her eyes again, thinks of the laundry she has to do, a dinner that she could prepare, the book that she needs to finish. She could take Flora for a walk, or take Flora in the car to see Gillian up on the farm, and then suddenly she’s thinking of all the reasons that visiting Gillian would be a really good idea. She tries not to think about why the idea is so appealing to her, tries to ignore the stupid smile that’s tugging at her lips, and she shoves her face into the pillow with a muffled groan. She tells herself that it’s only because Gillian might appreciate the company, because Raff and Ellie have been next door with Alan and Celia to keep Calamity away from the shouting that happens when Robbie decides that he needs to pick up that super important mug he’d forgotten, or those socks that he ‘really, really needs’.

So Caroline gets up, rubbing her neck as she slides out of bed and pads over to the cot. She’s practically holding her breath as she smiles and reaches down to graze her fingertip over Flora’s cheek, and Flora, thankfully, stays still and her eyes stay closed. Caroline smiles and walks into her bathroom, keeps the door open just slightly so that she’ll hear if Flora wakes, and she gets undressed, and gives herself time to actually enjoy showering.

 

Gillian’s been up for hours already. She’s been on the phone with Robbie’s solicitor - the one who insists on calling her “Mrs” Greenwood. She’s sitting in the kitchen, turning her mobile over and over in her fingers, listening to her own breathing and the ticking of the clock and they occasional bleat of a sheep outside. Two months ago, she’d told Robbie that she wasn’t happy. As far as she could recognise, there was no specific reason for her general air of uneasiness. Caroline reckoned it was because Gillian had cold feet - that she just wasn’t used to being tied down and committed. Gillian had insisted that it wasn’t that, that it felt different and that she’d know if it was that.

“Do you think,” Caroline had began, tentatively, “that it might have something to do with Eddie?” They had been sitting in Caroline’s garden, and Gillian had brushed that off too. Bringing Eddie up was a thing that Caroline liked to do every time something went a little bit wrong with Robbie, but this time she didn’t sound smug, or exasperated, and there was no hint of any kind of ‘I told you so’ in her tone. She seemed genuinely concerned, and Gillian wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

A month later, she’d told Robbie that she’d been sleeping with someone from work. She’d told him that it had been going on for months, and he, predictably - thankfully - had overreacted. He'd called her all sorts of names, packed a bag and gone. Caroline, of course, thought that was a really stupid idea, ‘poorly executed’, she’d said, and then she’d said that she’s no longer ever surprised when Gillian makes spectacularly bad decisions.

Gillian smiles to herself and she looks down at her phone. She can’t bring herself to be upset that she’s getting a divorce, and she doesn’t know what that says about her, but she comforts herself with the thought that she never really, truly wanted to marry him. She married him for the security, and because it’s easy to sleep around now, when she’s still young and attractive, but the thought of growing old on her own… and she knows that it wasn’t fair on him, but she also knows that no one is surprised.

She stands up, takes the empty mug in front of her to the sink and rinses it out, spends a few seconds thinking about what Caroline’s doing, how Caroline is, and then she’s zipping up her jacket and heading back outside.

 

“Is the house just a ruse?”

Gillian starts, almost banging her head as she emerges from beneath the tractor. “Jesus, Caroline!”

Caroline’s standing above her, her lips quirked in the way that means she’s trying not to seem like she’s  _ too  _ amused. She’s got Flora in her car seat carrier, it’s resting on one hip, and Gillian can hear Flora cooing. “Every time I see you, you’ve got your head underneath the tractor. I’m beginning to think you live there.”

Gillian struggles to her feet, using the back of her wrist to brush her hair from her eyes. “Oh ha ha,” she says sarcastically, but she’s smiling. She steps closer, looks down at Flora, and almost reaches out to touch her with an oily finger. She catches herself just in time and laughs, shaking her head. “Let me go wash me hands,” she says, gesturing back to the house. “Me dad’s still with Celia down your end, if that’s why you’re ‘ere.”

Caroline follows her into the house, and sets Flora down carefully at the kitchen table. “Oh no, we thought it’d be nice to come to see you,” she says, although she’s not facing Gillian. She’s speaking softly in Flora’s direction, and when she turns to offer Gillian a full smile, Gillian’s caught off guard.

“Oh,” she mutters, drying her hands on the towel and looking anywhere but at Caroline. “Do you want a cuppa? Or some- some coffee?”

Caroline comes over to her, and she’s spent enough time here that they’re both comfortable with the way she reaches up to grab two mugs. “I’ll sort it,” she says, and smiles. “You go and say hi to Flora.”

Gillian sits down next to Flora, and the child is clutching her finger and she’s making all the right noises -  but she’s watching Caroline fill the kettle and find the teabags and sugar, and she doesn't spend too long thinking about why her cheeks are pink and why she's smiling and why her smile is wider and more genuine than it’s been in months. “How’s she been?” she finally asks as Caroline pours the water.

“Flora? She’s been alright.” She turns and brings the two mugs to the table before she starts faffing around loosening the straps around the child and tucking her blanket around her. “We’re having a good week, aren’t we, missy?” She looks up at Gillian and smiles. “How’s everything here?”

“Oh, you know… the usual. Keepin’ busy. Robbie’s bein’ Robbie, an’ Dad’s bein’ Dad.” She pauses, smiles, wraps her fingers around the mug in front of her. “Raff reckons your mother’s ‘ad a thing or two to say ‘bout it all.”

“Oh you mustn’t listen,” Caroline sighs. “She’ll never learn to stay out of business that isn’t hers.”

“Yeah, well…” Gillian looks down at the tea, and she’s jogging her leg beneath the table. She’s not sure what about Caroline that’s getting her so nervous, and when she chances a look up Caroline’s tying her hair up, and Gillian’s stomach  _ flips.  _ Bollocks.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” the blonde is saying breezily, stretching her arms above her head before she picks up her tea and settles. “I know you’re probably busy. I don’t want to hold you up.”

Gillian’s shaking her head, and words are falling from her lips clumsily, stumbling like a drunk leaving the bar after closing and somehow they’re filling the space between them and Caroline’s nodding, agreeing. She has no idea what she’s saying - something along the lines of never being too busy for a cuppa - and she’s completely devastatingly distracted, making a mental list of all the reasons that falling for Caroline is a  _ really fucking stupid idea.  _ She’d told herself after Robbie that that was it, that bad decisions aren’t endearing or funny anymore, that she’s got to stop, that she’s going to resign from her lifelong occupation of Twatty McTwatface, elected Mayor of Twatville, and actually do something that will benefit her for more than point three seconds. And developing a thing for Caroline is only going to end badly - really,  _ really  _ badly.

“Have you got much planned today?” Caroline asks, sipping her tea and leaning back in her seat.

“Yeah-” Gillian mutters, clearing her throat and then offering her a smile. “Unfortunately, farms don’t stop just ‘cos it’s a bank holiday.”

“I’d maybe suggest that hormonal teenagers are slightly more challenging than a few sheep,” Caroline grins, and Gillian can’t stop looking at the way the sunlight’s filtering in behind her, framing her, catching all of the flyaway hairs she’s missed and making them golden. Her leg is bouncing faster and faster, and she only looks away when her knee hits the underside of the table and her tea sloshes over the rim and forms a puddle around the bottom of the mug.

“Well - you would, wouldn’t you?” Gillian says, pulling her sleeve down to mop up the tea without giving it much thought. “Wouldn’t last an  _ hour  _ out there.” She looks up, and Caroline’s looking indignant.

“Don’t you think?”

“Nah.”

“I changed a  _ wheel  _ for you.”

Gillian just grins, and shrugs, and is about to reply when Caroline continues.

“And it wasn’t even worth it, was it? Those shoes were expensive, and you got a divorce half an hour later!”

“Yeah but changin’ a wheel ain’t like bein’ out there. You’d never be able to manage.”

Caroline knows she’s being baited,  _ knows  _ that Gillian’s just waiting to prove that she’s right, she knows that rolling her sleeves up is quite possibly the worst thing she could do in this situation, but she can’t remember the last time she backed down from a challenge. She leans across the table, takes a second to search Gillian’s expression before she finishes her tea and literally rolls up her sleeves. “Alright then,” she says, expectantly. “What are we doing?”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

Gillian’s caught off guard, but manages to find her footing fairly quickly. “Well, I’m not even gonna bother puttin’ you anywhere near the tractor. Not if I want it to ever run again.”

“Has that tractor ever actually moved?” Caroline asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it function.”

Gillian ignores her, humming as she tries to think of something that Caroline could do - something that would be hard for Caroline and amusing for herself. “Lambs need to be sprayed,” she says, her lips curling into a smirk. “Wanna do that?”

“Right,” Caroline says, nodding and pushing herself back from the table. She gets ready to pick Flora’s chair up so she can take her outside, and Gillian takes the opportunity to look her up and down.

“You’re gonna need some wellies,” she says, standing up and gesturing to the door. “Wait here.” She disappears, and returns about five minutes later with two pairs of dirty wellington boots and a plastic bag. “What’re you, a six or seven?” she holds both pairs up, and Caroline smiles.

“I’m impressed,” she says, sitting down to pull her shoes off. “Seven. Have you got a whole shoe shop back there?”

“You’re so witty,” Gillian says, rolling her eyes and tossing the sevens over to her. While Caroline’s putting the wellies on, from the bag Gillian takes an empty spray bottle and another bottle labelled iodine. She mixes it with water in the spray bottle, and then turns to face Caroline, who is standing up, looking completely out of place with her blue jeans and black blouse and perfect hair and… wellies.

Gillian laughs before she can stop herself, and then she manages to compose herself with one hand over her face as though she’s trying to scrub away her smile. “Fit,” she says, nodding, and dissolves into giggles again at the look of utter distaste on Caroline’s face.

_ “Fit? _ What are we, fifteen?” Caroline picks Flora’s seat up and looks over at Gillian, shaking her head, but she’s grinning, and she likes seeing Gillian happy. She thinks she deserves to be, after the mess of a life she’s had so far.

 

“So you just-” Gillian’s panting, standing with her legs shoulder width apart and bending down, holding a lamb by its front legs. “Hold it - an’ then spray it.” She demonstrates, jerks her head back to get the hair from her face, sprays the lamb, and then lets it go. She straightens up and grins at Caroline, who is watching, looking determined and focused. She steps forward, and Gillian steps back, handing her the bottle.

Caroline carefully pulls a lamb towards her, and then realises that she only has two hands, and that now they’re both full and she needs one. She drops the bottle and tries to hold both of its legs in one hand, and then pick the bottle back up, and it’s all going well until the lamb starts wriggling and bleating. Caroline’s determined though, and she manages to spray it and let it go, and it runs off.

Gillian nods, grinning. “You can look smug when you’ve done the rest,” she says, leaning back against the fence with her arms crossed. “If it’s so easy.”

Caroline huffs, but she doesn’t give up and Gillian knew she wouldn’t. It’s just starting to rain as Caroline brushes her hair back and pulls another lamb to her and Gillian watches her, watches the way she adjusts her stance to better brace herself, and listens to the muttered curses that tumble from her lips when the third lamb she’s holding starts pitching a fit, bleating and twisting this way and that, and Caroline lets go of it, but she’s lost her balance. She starts to wobble, looks around for something to hold onto, and finds nothing. Gillian leans forward and grabs her arm, and it’s fine for all of a few seconds, and then there are lambs between them, running between their legs, and Gillian slips, goes down, and Caroline follows.

They’re both on the ground, in the mud, and they’re both laughing. Caroline looks slightly mortified, and she reaches up to push her hair back from her face, groaning when she ends up with mud smudged across her cheek and temple.

“Wow, Caz, you’re so good at this!” Gillian gushes, laughing as she flicks mud at her. “At least your shirt’s black. It don’t show up quite as much.”

“You can talk,” Caroline huffs, struggling to her feet and trying not to step on or trip over any lambs as she offers Gillian a hand up. She looks her up and down, grimacing. “It’s not a good look for you.”

Gillian gets to her feet and scrunches her nose up as she looks down at her jeans. “Really missed your true callin’ with this,” she mutters. “I always knew beneath that headmistress exterior there was a buddin’ sheep farmer, just waitin’ to be unleashed.”

Caroline shoves her playfully, and they manage to get away from the worst of the mud by the time it starts properly raining. Gillian squints up at the dark clouds that are surrounding them, and sighs. “No point in tryin’ to work out in this,” she says, and Caroline agrees.

Caroline had left Flora’s seat just inside the doorway, out of the sun and rain and God knows, even snow isn’t out of the question. It’s April, anything’s possible.

They both manage to pull the wellies off and Gillian puts them to the side and there’s a unanimous sigh of relief and amusement as the door clicks shut behind them. Flora starts to cry, and Caroline looks like she could join her. She’s shivering, and Gillian pushes her hair back from her face and wipes her hands on the only dry bit she can find on her t shirt. “Go shower,” she says, making sure her hands are mostly clean before she peels off her filthy t shirt, drops it, and picks Flora up, rocking her.

Caroline hesitates briefly, spending a little too long looking-but-not-really at Gillian’s torso. She clears her throat and looks away, nodding. “Thanks,” she says, and she means it. “Her bottle’s in the bag in the kitchen.”

Gillian nods and presses a kiss to Flora’s forehead and takes her into the kitchen, and Caroline heads upstairs, allowing herself time to think about Gillian, and as she strips off and steps into the shower to warm up, she’s not bothering to think about  _ why  _ she’s thinking about her so much, she’s just happy to feel so content, and curious to see where they’ll take it.

 

Gillian feeds Flora and sticks the kettle back on for her and Caroline, and she’s holding Flora tightly to her, rocking her, partly for the warmth, when Caroline comes downstairs. Gillian’s talking quietly to the baby, but the words die on her lips when she looks up, because Caroline’s wearing one of Gillian’s hoodies and some checked pyjama bottoms, and her hair’s damp and everywhere and her cheeks are pink from the heat of the water.

“I hope it’s alright,” Caroline says, smiling and plucking the sleeve of the blue hoodie. “There didn’t seem to be much point in putting those wet clothes back on.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” Gillian says, “sorry, I should’ve thought to offer.” She moves and passes Flora to Caroline, and then steps back, crossing her arms over her stomach almost shyly. “I’m gonna run up an’ ‘ave a really quick shower. I put kettle on, if you fancy some tea.”

 

When Gillian gets back downstairs, Caroline is curled up on the sofa, two steaming mugs of tea on the table in front of her, and she’s asleep, snoring softly, her arms wrapped securely around Flora, who’s also sleeping. Gillian smiles to herself and quietly goes to make sure that the door’s locked and everything’s as it should be before she moves to the sofa and settles - making sure that there’s just enough distance between the two of them. She tips her head back and lets her eyes close, happy to listen to the quiet snores and snuffles coming from the other end of the sofa.

 

They both start awake when Flora starts crying, and Caroline groans and rubs her neck, trying to quieten her before Gillian moves and shows signs of life.

“Shit,” she mumbles, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the clock, which is only made visible by what appears to be moonlight. “Oh shit.”

“Wha’?” Gillian mutters, opening her eyes reluctantly.

“I was supposed to get home.” Caroline’s voice is rough, deep, thick with sleep, and Gillian’s almost embarrassed with the way that it makes her cheeks heat up and her stomach flutter. “I’ve got work tomorrow. Today. Whatever. Shit.”

Flora’s still crying, and Gillian’s back protests when she tries to sit up, but she reaches out for her and Caroline’s still half asleep and too tired to think about why she’s handing her baby to Gillian, but she is.

“Sorry, Caroline,” Gillian mutters, rocking Flora and soothing her. “But I’m not up for drivin’ you back right now, an’ you look half dead - no offense.”

“Charmed.” She looks like she wants to argue, but she knows that Gillian’s right. It’d be irresponsible to try to drive back now, and she’s honest with herself when she thinks that a large part of her doesn’t really want to go back to her big empty house and her big empty bed. Flora quietens and Gillian yawns, and Caroline sighs. “I’m not sleeping on the sofa,” she says. “I’d rather not feel like I’ve been hit by a train tomorrow.”

Gillian stretches, and doesn’t miss the way that Caroline watches her carefully. She might not have any A levels, but she’s not blind. She gets to her feet, and smiles, still holding Flora. “Well, I’m goin’ to bed,” she says gently. “An’ unless you’re plannin’ on sleepin’ on the floor…”

Caroline smiles, understands what Gillian’s saying, and rises. “I’m not planning on sleeping on the floor,” she says, stepping closer under the pretense of pressing a kiss to the top of Flora’s head. Gillian watches her fondly, and her tummy only swoops a little bit when Caroline takes her hand and tugs her to the stairs.

 

Gillian’s putting Flora into the cot in the corner of her room and tucking her in, and she turns around just in time to see her hoodie fall to the floor and Caroline slide into bed, in, as far as Gillian can tell, just her underwear. She swallows thickly, tries not to overthink, lends a few seconds to the train of thought that begins  _ hey, idiot, this is a really fucking stupid idea _ , and then pushes it away. She steps out of her pyjama bottoms, as she does every night anyway, and smiles as Caroline turns over onto her stomach, her arms wrapped around the pillow, facing Gillian with a sleepy smile on her face. Gillian climbs into bed, trying to keep a fair distance between them, but Caroline’s too tired to care. She shifts close to her and rests her head on Gillian’s shoulder, and Gillian’s heart is racing because Caroline smells like her shampoo, but she still smells like Caroline, and she’s still dignified and  _ gorgeous  _ even when she’s half asleep, and her fingers are curling into the soft fabric of Gillian’s t shirt, and one of her legs is hooked around both of Gillian’s.

Gillian throws caution and logic to the wind and winds an arm around Caroline’s waist, and she swears her heart’s about to make a break from her chest. Caroline’s warm and soft and now completely pressed against her, and Gillian briefly wonders where their boundaries are because she’s ninety percent convinced that Caroline’s lips just brushed over her throat. Caroline looks like she’s half asleep still, and she’s all soft curves and sleepy eyes, lit by the moonlight that’s only barely there, and before Gillian can even think about it, Caroline’s head is tilted up and hers is tilted down and their lips are meeting tentatively.

Gillian’s not kissed a woman in  _ ages,  _ but Caroline’s lips are so soft and warm that it feels like her first time all over again. She tightens her grip on the other woman’s waist and Caroline presses closer, and they kiss and kiss, and this, Gillian thinks,  _ this  _ is why she could never be happy with Robbie, this is why she’s never settled, because this is what she’d been waiting for. Caroline’s tugging gently at her t shirt, and Gillian sighs, and she wants this moment to last forever. This is what they’ve both been waiting for, and everything that’s happened to get them here suddenly makes sense, and God knows it’s all been worth it. 


End file.
